Agent Matt: Scorpioan's Nest
by Iron writer
Summary: The dying words of Ivan Harkov have lead Matt to new dangers and a past long forgotten. Confused and angry he seeks revenge, but against who? Matt must realize the truth before the ones he cares about are the ones to pay the price. A scorpions bite is painful and deadly. the poison that now flows through Matt's veins is vengeance.
1. Extra Credit

Agent Matt: Scorpioan's Nest

Chapter 1: Extra Credit

For the two thieves on the 200cc Vespa scooter, it was a case of the wrong victim, in the wrong place, on the wrong Sunday morning in September.

It seemed that all Life had gathered in the Piazza Esmeralda, a few miles outside Venice. Church had just finished and families were strolling together in the brilliant sunlight: grandmothers in black, boys and girls in their best suits and communion dresses. The coffee bars and ice-cream shops were open, their customers spilling onto the pavements and out into the street. A huge fountain - all naked gods and serpents - gushed jets of ice- cold water. And there was a market. Stalls had been set up selling kites, dried flowers, old postcards, clockwork birds and sacks of seed for the hundreds of pigeons that strutted around.

In the middle of all this were a dozen Japanese schoolchildren. It was bad luck for the two thieves that one of them was Matt Ishida.

It was the near the end of august. Less than a month had passed since Matt's final confrontation with Damon Crow on Air Force One - the American presidential plane. It had been the end of an adventure that had taken him to Rome and Amsterdam, and finally over china, even as twenty-five nuclear missiles had been fired at targets all around the world. Matt had managed to destroy these missiles. He had been there when Crow died. And at last he had gone home with the usual collection of bruises and scratches only to find a grim-faced and determined Julie Landers waiting for him. Julie was his housekeeper but she was also his friend, and, as always, she was worried about him.

"You can't keep this up, Matt," she said. "You're never at school. You missed half the summer term when you were at Skeleton Island and loads of the spring term when you were in Omaezaki and then at that awful Shadow academy. If you keep this up, you'll flunk all your exams and then what will you do?"

"It's not my fault—" Matt began.

"I know it's not your fault. But it's my job to do something about it, and I've decided to hire a tutor for what's left of the summer."

"You're not serious!"

"I am serious. You've still got quite a bit of holiday left. And you can start right now."

"I don't want a tutor—" Matt started to protest.

"I'm not giving you any choice, Matt. I don't care what gadgets you've got or what smart moves you might try - this time there's no escape!"

Matt wanted to argue with her but in his heart he knew she was right. JIN 7 always provided him with a doctor's note to explain his long absences from school, but the teachers were more or less giving up on him. His last report had said it all:

_Matt __con__ti__nues __t__o __s__pend __m__ore __t__i__m__e __out __of __s__chool__ t__han __i__n __it__,__and __i__f __t__h__i__s __carr__i__es __on, he __m__i__g__h__t __as__ w__e__l__l __forget __h__i__s__ College Entrance Exams.__A__lt__hough he cannot __be b__l__a__m__ed __for __w__hat__ s__ee__m__s __t__o be __a ca__t__a__l__ogue __of __m__ed__i__cal __prob__l__e__m__s__,__i__f __he fa__ll__s __a__n__y fur__t__her beh__i__nd,__I fear he __m__a__y d__i__s__appear a__lt__oge__t__h__er._

So that was it. Matt had stopped an insane, multimillionaire pop singer from destroying half the world - and what had he got for it? Extra Credit!

He started with ill grace - particularly when he discovered that the tutor Julie had found actually taught at a university that would have been fine if it was anyone else, but this was someone matt knew. When he heard the name he froze, Aiden Avalon. Sakura's dad. It was nice to see him but even so it was an embarrassment and he hoped nobody would find out. However, he had to admit that Mr Avalon was good at his job. Aiden Avalon was young and easy-going, arriving on a bicycle with a saddlebag crammed with books. He taught archaeology but seemed to know his way round the entire syllabus.

"We've only got a few weeks," he announced. "That may not seem very much, but you'd be surprised how much you can achieve one to one. I'm going to work you seven hours a day, and on top of that I'm going to leave you with homework. By the end of the holidays you'll probably hate me. But at least you'll start the new school year on a more or Less even keel."

Matt didn't hate Aiden Avalon. They worked quietly and quickly, moving through the day from maths to history to science and so on. Every weekend, the teacher left behind exam papers, and gradually Matt saw his percentages improve. And then Mr Avalon. sprang his surprise.

"You've done really well, Matt. I wasn't going to mention this to you, but how would you like to come with me on the University link trip?"

"What's that?" asked Julie.

"It's where the university and the readington high school go on a trip to anywhere of historic importance, here or outside the country."

"Where are you going?"

"Well, last year it was Paris; the year before that it was. Rome. We look at museums, churches, palaces ... that sort of thing. This year we're going to Venice. Do you want to come?"

Venice.

It had been in Matt's mind all along - the final minutes on the plane after Damon Crow had died. Ivan Harkov had been there, the Russian assassin who had cast a shadow over so much of Matt's life. Ivan had been dying, a bullet lodged in his chest. But just before the end he'd managed to blurt out a secret that had been buried for fifteen years.

Matt's parents had been divorced while he was still young and hadn't seen much of his mother or brother. Earlier this year, Mahon Ishida had died, supposedly in a car accident. It had been the shock of Matt's life to discover that his father was actually a spy and had been killed on a mission in Cornwall. That was when JIN 7 had made their appearance. Somehow they had succeeded in sucking Matt into their world, and he had been working for them ever since. Matt knew very little about his mother Nancy Ishida. In his bedroom he had a photo of them: a watchful, handsome man with close-cut hair standing with his arm round a pretty, half-smiling woman and the two boys both him and his brother together. He had been in the army and still looked like a soldier. She had been a nurse, working in on the front lines. But they were strangers to him; he couldn't remember anything about them. He thought he knew everything there was to know about his mother.

Now he knew otherwise.

Ivan Harkov had told him the truth on Air Force One. Matt's Mother had been an assassin - just like Ivan. The two of them had even worked together; Nancy Ishida had once saved Ivan's life. But then his Mother had been killed by JIN 7 - the very same people who had forced Matt to work for them three times, lying to him, manipulating him and finally dumping him when he was no longer needed. It was almost impossible to believe, but Ivan had offered him a way to find proof.

Go to Venice. Find the scorpions seal and you will find your answers, to who you truly are….

Matt had to know what had happened. Discovering the truth about Nancy Ishida would be the same as finding out about himself. Because, if his Mother really had killed people for money, what did that make him? Matt was angry, unhappy ... and confused. He had to find Scorpions seal, whatever it was. Whoever she worked for they would tell him what he needed to know.

A school trip to Venice couldn't have come at a better time. And Julie didn't stop him from going. In fact, she encouraged him.

"It's exactly what you need, Matt. A chance to hang out with your friends and just be an ordinary schoolboy. I'm sure you'll have a great time."

Matt said nothing. He hated having to lie to her, but there was no way he could tell her the truth. Julie had never met his mother; this wasn't her affair.

So he let her help him pack, knowing that, for him, the trip would have little to do with churches and museums. He would use it to explore the city and see what he unearthed. Five days wasn't a long time. But it would be a start. Five days in Venice. Five days to find the Scorpion seal.

And now here he was. In an Italian square. Three days of the trip had already gone by and he had found nothing.

"Matt - you fancy an ice cream?" "No. I'm all right."

"I'm hot. I'm going to get one of those things you told me about. What did you call it? A granada or something..."

Matt was standing beside another fifteen-year-old boy who happened to be his closest friend at Readington, besides Sakura and Madison. He had been surprised to hear that Aichi Sendou was going to be on the trip, as Aichi wasn't exactly one to be mixed in with groups of people. He was very shy and kept to himself. But for what he lacked in self-confidence he made up for in tactics and spirit and even the teachers had to admit that he was fun to be with. And Aichi was small for his age, with spiky blue hair and bright blue eyes. He wouldn't have been found dead in a museum, so why was he here? Matt soon found out. Aichi's parents were going through a messy divorce, and they had packed him off to get him out of the way. Matt felt for Aichi, he knew what it was like going through that, heartbroken and you blame yourself.

"It's a granita," Matt said. It was what he always ordered when he was in Italy: crushed ice with fresh lemon juice squeezed over it. It was halfway between an ice cream and a drink and there was nothing in the world more refreshing.

"Come on. You can order it for me. When I ask anyone for anything in Italian they just stare at me like I'm mad."

In fact, Matt only spoke a few phrases himself. Italian was one language Mahon Ishida hadn't taught him. Even so, he went with Aichi and ordered two ices from a shop near the market stalls, one for Aichi and one - Aichi insisted - for himself. Aichi had plenty of money. His parents had showered him with euros before he left.

"Are you going to be at school this term?" he asked. Matt shrugged.

"Of course."

"You were hardly there last term - or the term before."

"I was ill." Aichi nodded. He was wearing Diesel light-sensitive sunglasses that he had bought at Kenobi duty-free. They were too big for his face and kept slipping down his nose.

"You do realize that no one believes that," he commented.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody's that ill. It's just not possible." Aichi lowered his voice. "There's a rumour you're a thief," he confided.

"What?"

"That's why you're away so much. You're in trouble with the police."

"Is that what you think?"

"No. But Miss Bridle asked me about you. She knows we're friends. She said you got into trouble once for nicking a crane or something. She heard about that from someone and she thinks you're in therapy."

"Therapy?" Matt was staggered.

"Yeah. She's quite sorry for you. She thinks that's why you have to go away so much. You know, to see a shrink."

Jackie bridle was the school secretary, an attractive woman in her twenties. She had come on the trip too, as she did every year. Matt could see her now on the other side of the square, talking to Mr Avalon. A lot of people said there was something going on between them, but Matt guessed the rumour was probably as accurate as the one about him. He saw sakura briefly sitting with Madison on the fountains edge, she looked up and caught his eye contact. He smiled and waved at her. She turned away and ignored him. Sakura had been acting like that for a while now, even at school. She refused to sit next to him, didn't eat lunch with anymore and hardly saw her at any time after school. Maybe he would ask Madison later, see if she knew what was going on.

A clock chimed twelve. In half an hour they would have lunch at the hotel where they were staying. Readington High was an ordinary west Tomoeda comprehensive and they'd decided to keep costs down by staying outside Venice. Mr Avalon had chosen a hotel in the little town of San Lorenzo, just ten minutes away by train. Every morning they'd arrive at the station and take the water bus into the heart of the city. But not today. This was Sunday and they had the morning off.

"So are you—" Aichi began. He broke off. It had happened very quickly but both boys had seen it.

On the opposite side of the square a motorbike had surged forward. It was a 200cc Vespa Gran-turismo, almost brand new, with two men riding it. They were both dressed in jeans and loose, long-sleeved shirts. The passenger had on a visored helmet, as much to hide his identity as to protect him if they crashed. The driver - wearing sunglasses - steered towards Miss Bridle, as if he intended to run her over. But, a split second before contact, he veered away. At the same time, the man riding pillion reached out and snatched her handbag. It was done so neatly that Matt knew the two men were professionals - scippatori as they were known in Italy. Bag snatchers.

Some of the other pupils had seen it too. One or two were shouting and pointing, but there was nothing they could do. The bike was already accelerating away. The driver was crouched low over the handlebars; his partner was cradling the leather bag in his lap. They were speeding diagonally across the square, heading towards Matt and Aichi. A few moments before, there had been people everywhere, but suddenly the centre of the square was empty and there was nothing to prevent their escape.

"Matt!" Aichi shouted.

"Stay back," Matt warned. He briefly considered blocking the Vespa's path. But it was hopeless.

The driver would easily be able to swerve round him - and if he chose not to, Matt really would spend the following term in hospital. The bike was already doing about twenty miles an hour, its single-cylinder four-stroke engine carrying the two thieves effortlessly towards him. Matt certainly wasn't going to stand in its way.

He looked around him, wondering if there was something he could throw. A net? A bucket of water? But there was no net and the fountain was too far away, although there were buckets...

The bike was less than twenty metres away, accelerating all the time. Matt sprinted and snatched a bucket from the flower stall, emptied it, scattering dried flowers across the pavement, and filled it with bird seed from the stall next door. Both stall owners were shouting something at him but he ignored them. Without stopping, he swung round and hurled the seed at the Vespa just as it was about to flash past him. Aichi watched - first in amazement, then with disappointment. If Matt had thought the great shower of seed would knock the two men off the bike, he'd been mistaken. They were continuing regardless.

But that hadn't been his plan.

There must have been two or three hundred pigeons in the square and all of them had seen the seed spraying out of the bucket. The two riders were covered in it. Seed had lodged in the folds of their clothes, under their collars and in the sides of their shoes. There was a small pile of it caught in the driver's crotch. Some had fallen into Miss Bedfordshire's bag; some had become trapped in the driver's hair.

For the pigeons, the bag thieves had suddenly become a meal on wheels. With a soft explosion of grey feathers, they came swooping down, diving on the two men from all directions. Suddenly the driver had a bird clinging to the side of his face, its beak hammering at his head, ripping the seed out of his hair. There was another pigeon at his throat, and a third between his legs, pecking at the most sensitive area of all. His passenger had two on his neck, another hanging off his shirt, and another half-buried in the stolen bag. And more were joining in. There must have been at least twenty pigeons, flapping and batting around them, a swirling cloud of feathers, claws and - triggered by greed and excitement - flying splatters of white bird droppings.

The driver was blinded. One hand clutched the handlebars, the other tore at his face. As Matt watched, the bike performed a hundred and eighty degree turn so that now it was coming back, heading straight towards them, moving faster than ever. For a moment he stood poised, waiting to hurl himself aside. It looked as if he was going to be run over. But then the bike swerved a second time and now it was heading for the fountain, the two men barely visible in a cloud of beating wings. The students moved quickly dodging the path of the out of control bike. The front wheel hit the fountain's edge and the bike crumpled. Both men were thrown off. The birds scattered. In the brief pause before he hit the water, the man riding pillion yelled and let go of the handbag. Almost in slow motion, the bag arced through the air. Matt took two steps and caught it.

And then it was all over.

The two thieves were a tangled heap, half submerged in cold water. The Vespa was lying, buckled and broken, on the ground. Two policemen, who had arrived when it was almost too late, were hurrying towards them. The stall owners were laughing and applauding. Aichi was staring. Matt went over to Miss Bridle and gave her the bag.

"I think this is yours," he said.

"Matt..." Miss Bridle was lost for words. "How...?"

"It was just something I picked up in therapy," Matt said. He turned and walked back to his friend.


	2. Chasing the scorpion

Agent Matt: Scorpioan's Nest

Chapter 2: Chasing the scorpion

"Now, this building is called the Palazzo Con-tarini Del Bovolo," Mr Avalon announced. "Bovolo is the Venetian word for snail shell and, as you can see, this wonderful staircase is shaped a bit like a shell."

Aichi Sendou stifled a yawn. "If I see one more palace, one more museum or one more canal," he muttered, "I'm going to throw myself under a bus."

"There aren't any buses in Venice," Matt reminded him.

"A water bus, then. If it doesn't hit me, maybe I'll get lucky and drown." Aichi sighed. "You know the trouble with this place? It's like a museum. A bloody great museum. I feel like I've been here half my life."

"We're leaving tomorrow."

"Not a day too soon, Matt."

Matt couldn't bring himself to agree. He had never been anywhere quite like Venice - but then there was nowhere in the world remotely like it, with its narrow streets and dark canals twisting around each other in an intricate, amazing knot. Every building seemed to compete with its neighbour to be more ornate and more spectacular. A short walk could take you across four centuries and every corner seemed to lead to another surprise. It might be a canal side market with great slabs of meat laid out on the tables and fish dripping blood onto the paving stones. Or a church, seemingly floating, surrounded by water on all four sides. A grand hotel or a tiny restaurant. Even the shops were works of art, their windows framing exotic masks, brilliantly coloured glass vases, dried pasta and antiques. It was a museum, maybe, yet one that was truly alive. But Matt understood what Aichi was feeling. After four days, even he was beginning to think he'd had enough. Enough statues, enough churches, enough mosaics. And enough tourists all crammed together beneath a sweltering September sun. Like Aichi, he was beginning to feel overcooked.

And what about this scorpion seal? The trouble was, he had absolutely no idea what Ivan Harkov had meant by his last words. The scorpion's seal could be a club or a code for something. Matt had looked in the phone book and found no fewer than fourteen clubs with that name in and around Venice. It could be a business. Or it could be a single building. Scuole were homes set up for poor people. La Scala was an opera house in Milan. But scorpion seal didn't seem to be anything. No signs pointed to it-no streets were named after it.

It was only now he was here, nearing the end of the trip that Matt began to see it had been hopeless from the start. If Ivan had told him the truth, the pair of assassins - he and Nancy Ishida - had been hired killers. Had they worked for an organisation or private clients? If so, these people would be very carefully concealed ... perhaps inside one of these old palaces. Matt looked again at the staircase that Mr Avalon was describing. How was he to know that these steps didn't lead to the scorpion seal itself? They could be anywhere. It could be everywhere. And after four days in Venice, Matt was nowhere.

"We're going to walk back down the Frezzeria towards the main square," Mr Avalon announced. "We can eat our sandwiches there and after lunch we'll visit St Mark's Basilica."

"Oh great!" Aichi exclaimed. "Another church!"

They set off, a dozen Japanese schoolchildren, with Mr Avalon and Miss Bridle in front, talking animatedly together. Matt and Aichi trailed at the back, both of them gloomy. There was one day left, and, as Aichi had made clear, that was one day too many. He was, as he put it, all cultured out. But he wasn't returning to Tomoeda with the rest of the group. He had an older brother living in Naples and he was going to spend the last few days of the summer holidays with him. For Matt the end of the visit would mean failure. He would go home, the autumn term would begin, and...

And that was when he saw it, a flash of silver as the sun reflected off something at the edge of his vision. He turned his head. There was nothing. A canal leading away. Another canal crossing it. A single motor cruiser sliding beneath a bridge. The usual facade of ancient brown walls dotted with wooden shutters. A church dome rising above the red roof tiles. He had imagined it. But then the cruiser began to turn, and that was when he spotted it a second time and knew it was really there: a silver scorpion decorating the side of the boat, pinned to the wooden bow. Matt stared as it swung into the second canal. It wasn't a gondola or a chugging public vaporetto, but a sleek, private launch - all polished teak, curtained windows and leather seats. There were two crew members in immaculate white jackets and shorts, one at the wheel, the other serving a drink to the only passenger. This was a woman, sitting bolt upright, looking straight ahead. Matt only had time to glimpse black hair, an upturned nose, a face with no expression. Then the motor launch completed its turn and disappeared from sight. A scorpion decorating a motor launch. The Scorpions seal.

It was the most slender of connections but suddenly Matt was determined to find out where the boat was going. It was almost as if the silver scorpion had been sent to guide him to whatever it was he was meant to find. And there was something else. The stillness of the woman. How was it possible to be carried through this amazing city without registering some emotion, without at least moving your head from left to right? Matt thought of Ivan Harkov. He would have been the same. He and this woman were two of a kind. Matt turned to Aichi.

"Cover for me," he said urgently.

"What now?" Aichi asked.

"Tell them I wasn't feeling well. Say I've gone back to the hotel."

"Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you later." With that Matt was gone, ducking between an antiques shop and a cafe up the narrowest of alleyways, trying to follow the direction of the boat. But almost at once, he saw that he had a problem. The city of Venice had been built on over a hundred islands. Mr Avalon had explained this on their first day. In the middle Ages the area had been little more than a swamp. That was why there were no roads -just waterways and oddly shaped bits of land connected by bridges. The woman was on the water; Matt was on the land. Following her would be like trying to find his way through an impossible maze in which their paths would never meet. Already he had lost her.

The alleyway he had taken should have continued straight ahead. Instead it suddenly veered off at an angle, obstructed by a tall block of flats. He ran round the corner, watched by two Italian women in black dresses, sitting outside on wooden stools. There was a canal ahead of him, but it was empty. A flight of heavy stone steps led down to the murky water but there was no way forward ... unless he wanted to swim. He peered to the left and was rewarded with a glimpse of wood and water churned up by the propellers of the motor launch as it passed a fleet of gondolas roped together beside a rotting jetty. There was the woman, still sitting in the stern, now sipping a glass of wine. The boat continued under a bridge so tiny there was barely room to pass. There was only one thing he could do. He swivelled round and retraced his steps, running as fast as he could. The two women noticed him again and shook their heads disapprovingly. He hadn't realized how hot it was. The sun seemed to be trapped in the narrow streets, and even in the shadows the heat lingered. Already sweating, he burst back out onto the street where he had begun. Fortunately there was no sign of Mr Avalon or the rest of the school party.

Which way?

Suddenly every street and every corner looked the same. Relying on his sense of direction, Matt chose left and sprinted past a fruit shop, a candle shop and an open-air restaurant where the waiters were already laying the tables for lunch. He came to a bend and there was the bridge - so short he could cross it in five steps. He stopped in the middle and leant over the edge, gazing down the canal. The smell of stagnant water pricked his nostrils. There was nothing. The launch had gone. But he knew which way it had been heading. It still wasn't too late - if he could keep moving. He darted on. A British tourist was just about to take a photo of his wife and daughter. Matt heard the camera shutter click as he ran between them. When they got back to London, they would have a picture of a slim, athletic boy with fair hair hanging over his forehead, dressed in shorts and a Billabong T-shirt, with sweat pouring down his face and determination in his eyes. Something to remember him by. A crowd of tourists. A busker playing the guitar. Another cafe. Waiters with silver trays. Matt ploughed through them all, ignoring the shouts of protest hurled after him. Now there was no sign of water anywhere; the street seemed to go on for ever. But he knew there must be a canal somewhere ahead. He found it and nearly feel into it. The road fell away. Grey water flowed past. He had reached the Grand Canal, the largest waterway in Venice. And there was the motor launch with the silver scorpion now fully visible. It was at least thirty metres away, surrounded by other vessels, and moving further into the distance with every second that passed. Matt knew that if he lost it now he wouldn't find it again. There were too many channels opening up on both sides that it could take. It could slip into the private mooring of one of the palaces or stop at any of the smart hotels. He noticed a wooden platform floating on the water just ahead of him and realized it was one of the landing stages for the Venice water buses. There was a kiosk selling tickets, and a mass of people milling about. A yellow sign gave the name of this point on the canal: SANTA MARIA DEL GIGLIO. A large, crowded boat was just pulling out.

A number one bus. His school party had taken an identical boat from the main railway station the day they had arrived, and Matt knew that it travelled the full length of the canal, it was moving quickly. Already a couple of metres separated it from the landing stage. Matt glanced back. There was no chance he would be able to find his way through the labyrinth of streets in pursuit of the motor launch. The vaporetto mas his only hope. But it was too far away. He had missed it and there might not be another one for at least ten minutes. A gondola drew past, the gondolier singing in Italian to the grinning family of tourists he was carrying. For a second Matt thought about hijacking the gondola. Then he had a better idea.

He reached out and grabbed hold of the oar, snatching it out of the gondolier's hands. Taken by surprise, the gondolier shouted out, twisted round and lost his balance. The family looked on in alarm as he plunged backwards into the water. Meanwhile Matt had tested the oar. It was about five metres long, and heavy. The gondolier had been holding it vertically, using the splayed paddle end to guide his craft through the water. Matt ran. He stabbed down with the blade, thrusting it into the Grand Canal, hoping the water wouldn't be too deep. He was lucky. The tide was low and the bottom of the canal was littered with everything from old washing machines to bicycles and wheelbarrows, cheerfully thrown in by the Venetian residents with no thought of pollution. The bottom of the oar hit something solid and Matt was able to use the length of wood to propel himself forward. It was exactly the same technique he had used pole-vaulting at Readington sports day. For a moment he was in the air, leaning backwards, suspended over the Grand Canal. Then he swung down, sweeping through the open entrance of the water bus and landing on the deck. He dropped the oar behind him and looked around. The other passengers were staring at him in amazement. But he was on board. There were very few ticket collectors on the water buses in Venice, which was why there was nobody to challenge Matt about his unorthodox method of arrival or demand a fare. He leant over the edge, grateful for the breeze sweeping across the water. And he hadn't lost the motor launch.

It was still ahead of him, travelling away from the main lagoon and back into the heart of the city. A slender wooden bridge stretched out over the canal and Matt recognized it at once as the Bridge of the Academy, leading to the biggest art gallery in the city. He had spent a whole morning there, gazing at works by Tintoretto and Lorenzo Lotto and numerous other artists whose names all seemed to end in o. briefly he wondered what he was doing. He had abandoned the school trip. Mr Avalon and Miss Bridle would probably already be on the phone to the hotel, if not the police. Sakura would probably be mad at him as well, more than she already was. And why? What did he have to go on? A silver scorpion adorning a private boat. He must be out of his mind.

The vaporetto began to slow down. It was approaching the next landing stage. Matt tensed. He knew that if he waited for one load of passengers to get off and another to get on, he would never see the motor launch again. He was on the other side of the canal now. The streets were a little less crowded here. Matt caught his breath. He wondered how much longer he could run. And then he saw, with a surge of relief that the motor launch had also arrived at its destination. It was pulling into a palace a little further up, stopping behind a series of wooden poles that slanted out of the water as if, like javelins, they had been thrown there by chance. As Matt watched, two uniformed servants emerged from the palace. One moored the boat; the other held out a white- gloved hand. The woman grasped the hand and stepped ashore. She was wearing a tight- fitting cream dress with a jacket cut short above the waist. A handbag swung from her arm. She could have been a model striding off the cover of a glossy magazine. She didn't hesitate. While the servants busied themselves unloading her suitcases, she climbed the steps and disappeared behind a stone column. The water bus was about to leave again. Quickly Matt climbed out onto the landing stage. Once again he had to work his way round the buildings that crowded onto the Grand Canal. But this time he knew what he was looking for. A few minutes later, he found it.

It was a typical Venetian palace, pink and white, its narrow windows built into a fantastic embroidery of pillars, arches and balustrades, like something out of Romeo and Juliet. But what made the place so unforgettable was its position. It didn't just face the Grand Canal. It sank right into it, the water lapping against the brickwork. The woman from the boat had gone through some sort of portcullis, as if entering a castle. But it was a castle that was floating. Or sinking. It was impossible to say where the water ended and the palace began. The palace did at least have one side that could be reached by land. It backed onto a wide square with trees and bushes planted in ornamental tubs. There were men - servants - everywhere, setting up rope barriers, positioning oil-burning torches and unrolling a red carpet. Carpenters were at work, constructing what looked like a small bandstand. More men were carrying a variety of crates and boxes into the palace. Matt saw champagne bottles, fireworks, and different sorts of food. They were obviously preparing for a serious party. Matt stopped one of them.

"Excuse me," he said. "Can you tell me who lives here?" The man spoke no English. He didn't even try to be friendly. Matt asked a second man, but with exactly the same result. He recognized the type: he had met men like them before. The guards at Shadow Academy. The technicians at Crow Systems Technology. These were people who worked for someone who made them nervous. They were paid to do a job and they never stepped out of line. Were they people with something to hide? Perhaps.

Matt left the square and walked round the side of the palace. A second canal ran the full length of the building and this time he was luckier. There was an elderly woman in a black dress with a white apron sweeping the towpath. He went up to her.

"Do you speak English?" he asked. "Can you help me?"

"Si, con piocere, mio piccolo amico." The woman nodded. She put the broom down. "I spend many year in England. I speak good English. Who can I do?" Matt pointed at the building.

"What is this place?"

"It is the Ca' delle tenebre." She tried to explain. "Ca' ... you know ... in Venice we say casa. It means palace. And delle tenebre?" She searched for the word. "It is the Palace of darkness. Ca' delle tenebre."

"What's going on?"

"There is a big party tonight. For a birthday. Masks and costumes. Many important people come."

"Whose birthday?" The woman hesitated. Matt was asking too many questions and he could see that she was becoming suspicious. But once again age was on his side. He was only fifteen. What did it matter if he was curious? "Signora Roseabella. She is very rich lady. The owner of the house."

"Roseabella? Like the Movie star?" But the woman's mouth had suddenly closed and there was fear in her eyes. Matt looked round and saw one of the men from the square standing at the corner, watching him. He realized he had outstayed his welcome - and no one had been that pleased to see him in the first place. He decided to have one last try. "I'm looking for the scorpions seal," he said. The old woman stared at him as if she had been slapped in the face. She picked up the broom and her eyes darted over to the man watching them. It was lucky he hadn't heard' the exchange. He had sensed something was wrong, but he hadn't moved. Even so, Matt knew it was time to go.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Thank you for your help." He made his way quickly up the canal. Yet another bridge loomed ahead of him and he crossed it. Although he didn't know exactly why, he was grateful to leave the Palace of darkness behind him. As soon as he was out of sight, he stopped and considered what he had learnt. A boat with a silver scorpion had led him to a palace, which was owned by a beautiful and wealthy woman who didn't smile. The palace was protected by a number of mean- looking men, and the moment he had mentioned scorpions seal to a cleaning lady, he had suddenly become as welcome as the plague. It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough. There was going to be a masked ball tonight, a birthday party. Important people had been invited. Matt wasn't one of them, but already he had decided. He planned to be there all the same.


End file.
